


this is a love song in my own way.

by gabrielgoodman



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Endearments, Falling In Love, First Kiss, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielgoodman/pseuds/gabrielgoodman
Summary: So, anyway.Luke calls him baby. It’s a thing. He never does it when Alex is around, but that’s as far as any detectable rules go. He says it quietly, like a promise, sweet and soft and it echoes in the empty cove of Reggie’s ribcage, bounces around like a ping-pong ball. He says it at normal volume too, just like that, as if it is nothing particularly important, mindlessly, even though it pretty much makes Reggie’s head snap up every single time. When he wants to, he makes it sound like a prayer, in the cover of the night, the inky darkness of his bedroom or the studio, whenever they can’t sleep.-Luke calls Reggiebaby. Reggie doesn't know what to do about it.
Relationships: Luke Patterson/Reggie (Julie and The Phantoms)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 853





	this is a love song in my own way.

**Author's Note:**

> quite honestly, this was bound to happen. i think in the past month, i've watched julie and the phantoms like seven times and i am absolutely obsessed with it. initially, cheyenne jackson was the sole reason why i got into it but then it all exploded and i fell in love with everyone (but mostly reggie). this is set pre-canon, and i've kinda cranked this out in less than 48 hours, so ..... yeah. but i just couldn't let this rest. 
> 
> let's hear it for confused bi icon reggie. 
> 
> I'm not a native speaker and this has been written in two nights, running on nothing but caffeine and prayers, so apologies for any mistakes beforehand. this has not seen a beta reader (as ususal), so I'll come back to always fix things as we go. 
> 
> title: fall out boy - bang the doldrums.

It starts innocently enough.

Actually, that’s not quite true. Reggie can’t really remember when exactly it starts, just that at some point it must have become a thing, because he is responding to it now as if he’s done so all his life. He doesn’t even think twice about it, and it happens so randomly that he hasn’t found a pattern yet. Luke is like that, anyway. He just does things to drive Reggie wild or to take the piss, even though Reggie has yet to find the joke in this. Cause. It’s just not funny. It’s maddening, but only when he spends too much time agonizing over it like he is doing right now.

So, anyway.

Luke calls him _baby_. It’s a thing. He never does it when Alex is around, but that’s as far as any detectable rules go. He says it quietly, like a promise, sweet and soft and it echoes in the empty cove of Reggie’s ribcage, bounces around like a ping-pong ball. He says it at normal volume too, just like that, as if it is nothing particularly important, mindlessly, even though it pretty much makes Reggie’s head snap up every single time. When he wants to, he makes it sound like a prayer, in the cover of the night, the inky darkness of his bedroom or the studio, whenever they can’t sleep. To check if Reggie is there, with him. He adds it to verses he sings as well, croons it when they are pouring over lyrics and he is far too close, his bare arms brushing against the used, weathered leather of Reggie’s jacket, hot enough to burn through the fabric.

 _Baby_. Sometimes it’s babe, but only a few times, five so far. No, it’s not like Reggie is actively keeping track except that maybe he is and what about it.

He totally, absolutely likes girls. And what Luke and Alex had, well, he saw that, and he totally supports it, but he kept quiet when he could tell it was over, not pointing it out. He didn’t want to ruin the band, what with Bobby already being such an asshole if he wanted to and ruining any cool moment. Sometimes, that dude just couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut and Alex had to remind him that he was on fucking rhythm guitar. They would totally survive without rhythm guitar. They wouldn’t survive without drums, bass, or a lead singer.

It’s nothing, really. Except when they are so close that Reggie could push his nose into the crook of Luke’s neck if he wanted to, and Luke’s eyes are like bottomless pools you could sink into infinitely and never reach the ground of, and there are only a few inches of air between them, and it would be so easy to close that gap and breathe him in, to mouth along the curve of Luke’s jaw, to feel how it moves when he murmurs, “ _Baby_ ,” and how Reggie would melt into him, boneless, liquid silver, ready to be molded. Shaped entirely anew.

It could be so easy, so, so easy.

But Reggie doesn’t. He _can’t_. Cause he likes girls, and he loves this band, and he can’t risk it for anything, he can’t lose this too. He can’t wake up one morning and only find shambles, like, like … Like with his mom and dad.

So, Reggie doesn’t say anything and keeps his mouth shut.

It’s easy.

*

They are laying on the mattress in the studio, the one that’s up the stairs, where Luke has grown accustomed to sleep ever since his parents have kicked him out and where Reggie only stays when the fighting grows too tumultuous at home, voices too loud for him to fall asleep, the tension too high for him to go anywhere but lock himself up in his room. And Reggie would really fucking like if he could, like, get a glass of water from the kitchen without the fear of getting yelled at, so he finds refuge in their studio. He used to stay here on his own, but now Luke is there too, and he figures that misery loves company. Usually, they get cheap pizza that might or might not give them food poisoning, and write until they are both too tired to keep their eyes open, and Luke will pass out on the couch with Reggie taking the mattress or calling Alex from the phonebooth two blocks down the road. Today, neither of them had any spare change so he is staying.

“Is it still bad at home?” Luke asks, and Reggie immediately feels guilty. Here he is, living in a studio without the chance of ever going home, and he asks _Reggie_ how he’s feeling. _At least I still have a home_ , he wants to say, but bites his tongue, because he has acquired enough tact at this point to know when not to blurt out stuff like that.

Reggie shrugs, pulling one shoulder up. He is wearing one of the shirts he has stashed here for this exact purpose. Soft sweats that are gray and a little loose on him. His legs are too skinny, his mom keeps telling him when she sees him in one of his too tight and narrow pants; she doesn’t like those either. He’s always been lean, not like Luke. Luke, who’s always sleeveless, showing off. Not like Luke at all, he thinks with a dry mouth.

He’s digressing.

“Yeah, well. I mean. It’s not good if you catch me,” he chuckles awkwardly. It’s too quiet up here, stifling almost, like the air is pressing down on them heavily, suffocatingly, or maybe that’s just Reggie. Luke is so close. If lights were on and not just a reflection on the windowpanes, he could totally count his lashes. Huh. What a weird thing to consider.

Luke’s mouth pulls into a frown, and his hand is suddenly curling around Reggie’s neck, his touch soft, his thumb pushing into a tense spot at the back of Reggie’s head, where his migraines tend to originate from. His eyes flutter shut, and before he can lean into the alleviation entirely, Luke does it again.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

 _Baby_.

Reggie sighs and when his eyes flicker open again, there is only darkness until they grow used to it, and then there is Luke, all shadows, and curves, and the cool light of the moon bathing him in smudges of grey – the tip of his nose, the slope of his jaw, the dip of his waist. Reggie can see it all now, and it feels entirely out of order, but somehow, he cannot stop himself from staring, captivated.

“Don’t be,” he murmurs, and tries to pull his lips up into his light, boyish smirk, but it never seems to get there. It’s like Luke is pulling his strings now; the thumb resting still and motionless at the base of his skull, except for the slight pressure it emits. It makes Reggie’s damn toes curl, socked feet peeking out beneath the light blanket thrown over him. _What the fuck_.

“But I wanna be, Reg. Let me,”

 _Let me_.

Reggie’s pretty sure he would let Luke do about anything right now, if he just doesn’t pull away. Luke is so damn _pushy_ all the time, only Alex has ever managed to put a halt to it and Reggie still hasn’t figured out how he did that. Probably because he has some twisted sixth sense that can tap into people’s emotions, unlike Reggie, who has never quite figured out how to do that, to no one’s surprise. With parents like his, it’s a wonder he can articulate himself emotionally to begin with.

Reggie hums, “Hmmm,” and he can hear Luke chuckle under his breath. It’s a nice sound. It fits into all of …. _this_ , whatever it is. A song, maybe, something that only needs a little bass and acoustic guitar.

“You’ll be alright,” Luke says quietly, and his arm wraps around Reggie’s waist, and suddenly he is in Luke’s arms, and Reggie is too tired and too warm and too comfortable to protest, and besides, it feels good. Really good. He tucks his head against Luke’s chest, under his chin, and closes his eyes. Luke smells the same he always does, warm and a little sweaty and like the soap he uses, the one that’s already been in the studio shower when they started rehearsing here, and Reggie wants to get lost in it. The blanket is pulled over them, and Luke rests his cheek against Reggie’s hair.

“You’ll be alright, baby,” he repeats, almost a whisper. Reggie can hardly pick up on it but still, it drifts to his ears, and it’s all that’s on repeat in his mind until he falls asleep.

*

He dreams in fits and starts, but all night long, Luke doesn’t let go.

*

“Dude, will you _please_ calm down?”

Alex has been pacing the entire length of their admittedly cramped dressing room for the past thirty minutes, and Reggie is slowly getting motion sick just looking at him. Alex is also simultaneously twisting his drumsticks around his fingers in that way that makes Bobby roll his eyes, because he thinks he’s only doing it to show off, and Luke, who’s been tapping his foot impatiently, sitting right next to Reggie on the couch, has apparently had enough.

Well, Reggie thinks that’s fair.

He’s pretty sure he can hear Bobby mutter, “Thank Christ,” when Alex finally stops moving everything but the stick twirling between his fingers. Reggie is watching this all unfold like one of his sister’s school plays, except that there are way too many boys present.

“Luke,” Alex says hysterically and slightly strained. To be honest, Reggie is worried about him most of the time because Alex is like an oversized stress knot that just winds tighter and tighter until one day, there won’t be any yarn left to draw from and he will just snap, and what happens then? He doesn’t want to find out. Like the rest of the band, he just wants Alex to take a minute to breathe and calm down, because he would rather still have a best friend ten years from now than have him explode or something right in front of their eyes. Right now, he seems pretty close to the exploding end of the scale.

“This is _big_ ,” Alex stresses and Reggie nods in agreement.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to wear a hole into the carpet, man,” Bobby drawls, one of his legs propped up on the table between them and Alex glares at him. One day, Reggie knows for certain, Alex is gonna choke Bobby with his drumsticks and it will be Sunset Curve’s first huge scandal that they will only recover from ten years later, coming back with an iconic concept record and a massive tour. Reggie can see it presently more definite than ever, partly due to the way Alex’s knuckles pale around the stick in his left hand, the right still spinning, more aggressively than before, if possible.

“It’s not the Orpheum yet,” Bobby smirks and wriggles his eyebrows.

Reggie and Luke share a glance.

“No, _Robert_ , but it’s pretty much the biggest crowd we’ve ever played, so it’s _something_.” Whenever Alex is stressed and anxious like this, his voice goes all high and breathless, and his shoulders practically lift to his ears.

“Alex, dude,” Reggie stands up, hands held up in front of his body, careful to not get, like, stabbed with a drumstick. “Take a breath, we’ll be fine. We have each other, right? So, everything will be cool. We’ve done this a hundred times.” He pats Alex’s back and he visibly relaxes, but his face is still all screwed up and tense.

Bobby, who apparently has had enough of this, gets up, “I’ll see you when it’s places,” and leaves the room with a scoff. They really ought to have a word with him.

Alex is gaining visibly more color to his face and inhales deeply, now that he has stopped moving and Bobby is out of the room, and Reggie smiles relieved. “There we go, buddy. We can do this.” His smile grows into a grin and Alex smiles at him as well.

“I’m going to get some fresh air, okay?” Alex says, and nods as if to assure himself. It’s kinda cute, Reggie thinks.

“Do that, we’ll be here waiting,” Luke tells him, standing up and clapping Alex on the back; his toes align with Reggie’s, tip of his Vans pushing against the sole of Reggie’s boots and – it’s something to notice, he guesses. When there’s nothing else to pick up, or, you know. When your friend is standing just, like, next to you real close. Then that’s a thing one would notice. Naturally.

They watch Alex leave, Luke’s arm having found a resting place on Reggie’s shoulder, which he has just let happen because he’s that kind of guy now and they always have been like this, weirdly close and touchy and physical and it’s nothing out of the ordinary at all. If his heart beats faster whenever he remembers Luke’s hand curled around his neck, well, he’s the only one who knows about it (and pretends it doesn’t happen).

Reggie is too caught up in his own head to notice Luke move, and the pressure on his shoulder shifts until Luke is standing right in front of him, and this time they are literally toe to toe. They are so close to each other, Reggie is blinking to not go cross eyed; like this, he could count the golden freckles in Luke’s irises, and there’s a lyric somewhere in there, but he can’t quite bring his brain to form the words. Or any words.

“Hi,” he says, instead.

“Hi, _babe_ ,” Luke murmurs, and he does what he only ever does on stage and rests his forehead against Reggie’s. Oh, yeah. Oh, okay. Six times, he’s keeping count. That’s completely fine.

There’s an easy, infatuating smile on Luke’s lips and Reggie would like to know what it tastes like.

Which, uh. Yeah. _Yeah_.

“You okay?” Luke asks, always asking him if he’s okay, and Reggie’s eyes close on their own accord, briefly, their noses bumping against each other, and if he would lean in a little closer, he could feel the way Luke’s lips move when he forms vowels; it happens every now and then when they are sharing a microphone but they never, ever talk about it, ignoring what lays unspoken between them. Reggie does that. His parents do it all the time, but they also yell at each other to find solutions and he doesn’t think that’s a healthy way to deal with a relationship.

He and Luke don’t have a relationship, though. They are just friends. _Best friends_.

“I’m good, Luke. You’re okay?” Reggie replies and he feels really, really fucking dumb, like cat caught his tongue.

“Yeah, I’m stoked, _baby_. I can’t wait to play this gig.” This time, it sounds more like he’d say it to anyone and not just Reggie, even though Reggie knows he never uses it with anyone else. It sounds like a throw-away line, and he knows that it isn’t. Does it make that worse? He’s not sure.

It doesn’t make things better for sure, if the plummeting feeling in his stomach is anything to go by.

“You’re gonna kill it,” Reggie agrees, and – they’re still way too close. He can’t think with Luke right there in front of him, not moving any closer but not moving away either, just. There. All up in his space.

“So will you, Reg, don’t sell yourself short,” Luke says, and his hand squeezes Reggie’s wrist before finally pulling back, and all Reggie can do is swallow three times, get some moisture back into his mouth; he can feel how warm his cheeks are, spots of red clinging high and blooming beneath his skin, a quirk he could never quite control.

Reggie nods, a jerk of his head. It’s not very graceful.

Luke smiles still.

“Let’s go and get it.”

*

Stage lights are burning away and blinding Reggie’s eyes, sweat has made his shirt cling to his chest, drenched his pants, and his leather jacket has been discarded on the side of the stage three songs ago; they have launched into Now or Never and he is pushing his hair out of his eyes. Every now and then he peers over at the center of the stage, where Luke is. His back is lit up, and the crown of his head is drenched in gold; if Reggie wouldn’t know Luke personally, he’d think he’s some kind of Rock God with the way he is shredding on his guitar, his voice splitting through the noise, the roar of their instruments. He’s equally as sweaty as all of them, if not more by the way his top is sticking to his backside and Reggie’s eyes drift to his shoulders, the tendons there, and the vein curling down his biceps as he picks out a riff, and for one second he completely forgets what he is supposed to be doing, his pick slipping through his fingers. When he catches himself a beat later and plucks the strings bare, he catches Alex’s eyes, who lifts a brow at him and there are a million questions in that one glance alone, but Reggie can’t answer them here. Better not to, anyway. Just, in general.

They are blazing through the songs, like a forest catching fire, and it’s getting harder and harder to keep his eyes off Luke when Reggie is supposed to play his damn bass lines, because that’s what he is for. Without the rhythm section they could quit the whole band thing, so he’s trying his hardest to keep track, but then Luke is nodding his head and it’s like there’s a magnetic pull between them. Like Luke has his own gravitational field and it’s drawing him in, and there is not a single thing he can do about it.

Like the waves returning to the shore, Reggie goes, and it’s familiar, what they are doing here; there’s a microphone between them and songs they have come up with together spill between their lips, and Luke is grinning so wide while singing and playing, Reggie can’t help but mirror it. His knee nudges against Luke’s, a jolt of electricity running through him, setting him alight, and it’s everywhere around them; he’s aware that Bobby and Alex must be staring at them, but the crowd is so loud, they are eating it up. Luke is right in front of him, where he belongs, and the music flows through them, from one to the other; an energy that can’t be replicated. Reggie has never felt like this with anyone before, not even Alex can replicate the feeling he shares with Luke when they are here, on stage, in front of people who paid to see them and they are singing each other’s words.

“ _This game isn’t over; you’re only growing up_ ,” Luke’s voice is pitched perfectly along his own, smoother than Reggie’s, his guitar singing the accompanying harmony as their voices melt into one and his bass line sparks high and infectious. “ _The game ain’t over, you shouldn’t give up_!”

For some reason, Reggie can’t leave this time, even if the bridge is all Luke’s. He’s so transfixed, his own eyes wide as he takes Luke in, he hasn’t looked at anything else for the past two minutes and he doesn’t know where else to look anyway; there’s only Luke. Only Luke and his bright eyes, the dimples that appear when he smiles while he’s singing, the sweat that drips off his chin onto Reggie’s hand as he moves his fingers down the strings, his head low. Only Luke. His breath is warm on Reggie’s face as he sings the next part, his voice pitched lower than it should be.

“ _There’s a place beneath the stars that I know,_ baby, _it’s not far from here, c’mon, let’s go_.”

Reggie is staring. He knows he is, fuck, but he can’t – he can’t stop. He’s been staring all night but this is different, this is not how the song goes, this is – Luke winks, and jumps to the side, towards Bobby for their guitar soli, and finally Reggie manages to tear himself away, his face an intense shade of pink.

Luke’s eyes close, his lips curled into a private smile as he strums along to the last few words, and Reggie swears he is going to die of either a heart attack or mortification, or the neck of Bobby’s guitar stuck in his chest. Something. And yet, even with impending doom on the horizon, he is focused, completely zoned in on Luke. It should be embarrassing, he’s been staring like a schoolgirl at her crush all night, but instead he is flooded with warmth as Luke’s voice does that gravelly thing, the one that makes Reggie’s ribs all tight.

“ _This game isn’t over; we’re only growing up. The game ain’t over, don’t you give up, don’t you give up. Oh,_ baby, _never give up_.”

He only catches his breath when the set is over.

*

Alex wants to talk to him. Reggie does know that. Reggie also has no desire to have a talk about his feelings with anyone, even if Alex would be the first person he’d consider, cause Alex, unlike other people he knows, has emotional depth and is in touch with his feelings. He’s probably the only person Reggie would ever talk to about his feelings but because Reggie really does not want to talk to anyone about this confusing thing his body does whenever he sees Luke, he has decided to avoid him.

………. Turns out it’s rather difficult to avoid one of your best friends, who’s the drummer in your band, and whose place you occasionally sleep over at because your parents are one shattered porcelain cup away from a divorce.

It’s one day, after band practice, that Alex all but corners him (truly an unfair technique considering his height) and Reggie doesn’t have anywhere else to go. He planned to stay here, with Luke, and write some. Maybe rent a VHS and watch a movie; they are cheaper to rent than to buy and they are not exactly swimming in money. Alex, though, in all his might, towers over Reggie, really using every inch of height he has on him to his advantage, and Reggie is very much reminded of his father. Naturally, he tries to make himself smaller.

It is then that Alex realizes what he’s doing and his shoulders sack, and he turns into the gentle boy Reggie has known since they were little, golden hair and sweet smile. Immediately, Reggie feels better.

“Sorry, Reg. I didn’t mean to,” he starts, and case in point: in touch with his emotions; Reggie doubts Bobby would ever demonstrate such insights. He waves the drummer off though and stuffs his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

“It’s cool, Alex. Anything you want?”

Alex tilts his head, giving him the You-know-exactly-what-I-want-from-you-cause-you’ve-been-avoiding-me-for-days-now-look. It’s quite a mouthful and it makes Reggie feel as shitty as he is probably ought to because Alex only means well and Reggie is a disaster waiting to happen, always a step away from something going absolutely and completely wrong; he should be glad people are looking out for him, and he is, really, totally, but it’s just – Alex has always been so cool and inspirational about being gay, with them growing up in the eighties and shit being scary on TV, but Reggie never had to be like that. He never had to think about these things. Of course, he felt for Alex, because they are friends and he loves Alex, but it’s just – he never had to work through it _himself_. Seventeen is rather late for that, Reggie thinks, and he is still looking at girls, checking if he likes them and he is fairly sure he does. Girls are awesome. They make Reggie feel all fluttery and buzzing, not at all like Luke makes him feel fluttery. Luke makes him feel …. Luke makes him feel like when you crash through the surface and can finally breathe again, like LA summers coated in unbearable heat, like that really good Joni Mitchell record he has told no one that he likes.

( _He tried hard to help me, you know he put me at ease, and he loved me so naughty, made me weak in the knees, oh, I wish I had a river, I could skate away on ….._ )

Alex sighs heavily, “Listen Reggie, I’m not gonna, like, force you to do anything you don’t want to, but …. But I’m here for you, yeah? If you ever need anyone to talk to that gets it. Because I do. I get it,” and his smile is so warm and caring that Reggie feels like he could cry on the spot, he can’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that. His dad used to do it, but that was years ago, when Reggie wasn’t tall enough to reach the cookie jar.

Reggie nods, too struck to say anything.

“Oh, and. You left that at my place, I figured you might want it back. Sounds like it has potential,” Alex says then, and reaches into the inner pocket of his jean jacket. He pulls out a folded piece of paper and Reggie is confused for a moment, before he grabs it and opens it, and, _oh_.

His cheeks heat up and his nose is probably turning red at this point, but Alex is only smiling, like he could teach the sun to rise with that alone. Reggie feels … he is not _only_ embarrassed and that’s good. He laughs, more to himself, a little awkwardly, and shoves the paper into his back pocket. No one must see this, ever. Least Luke.

“Thanks, Alex. I … I mean it. Thank you so much,” Reggie says, sincerely, and Alex doesn’t wait a moment longer to pull him into a fierce hug.

“It will be alright, Reg. I promise you.”

“I hope you’re right.”

And Reggie’s response is muffled against Alex’s shoulder but Alex only squeezes him tighter, like he could assure Reggie that his impending sexuality crisis is nothing to be worried about and simply a rite of passage, and not the reason why Reggie has lost a week of good’s night sleep. The page is burning a hole through his jeans pocket, but Alex doesn’t let go.

“It will be okay,” Alex repeats softly, and for once, Reggie allows himself to believe it.

*

_He keeps calling me baby,_ is what Reggie actually wants to say to Alex. _And he only does it in private and in songs, and now I cannot stop thinking about his mouth, and how it would be to kiss him, and how his hands would feel curled around mine, and did you feel the same way when you fell in love with him?_ But obviously, he doesn’t say that, so instead Reggie writes his feelings into songs that hopefully won’t see the light of day in, like, ever.

They aren’t good lyrics. Or they are, and he just doesn’t think so, too sappy, and lovelorn, too on the nose, and definitely no Sunset Curve material. They’re like his country songs, only that he makes sure to not leave them in any notebooks because that would simply be too humiliating. It is bad enough as it is that Alex knows; he is pretty sure Bobby suspects something, but he hasn’t said anything so far. Good. Reggie wouldn’t know what to tell him anyway, he hasn’t figured anything out yet.

Only, that he likes Luke. That he likes when Luke calls him _baby_. That he’d like to kiss Luke like he only ever wanted to kiss girls. That … that that’s a new development in his life that he hasn’t quite gotten the hang of, yet. And anyway, they are way too focused on booking more gigs, writing more songs, playing an ever-growing size of clubs; people know them by name now and they have actual _fans_. It makes Reggie giddy to just _think_ about.

His parents have moved on from the yelling to long stretches of silence in between the yelling, so that makes it at least easier to go back to sleep when he’s woken up by another shouting match or the phantom sensation of it, his body conditioned to stir awake to make sure he’s okay, the girls are okay, everything’s fine. He never knows how long it will last. At home, Reggie walks silently on eggshells to not disturb the calm before the storm; he never raises his voice, and he doesn’t play bass. At home, Reggie feels like a visitor. Nothing is real. He peeks through the keyhole to make sure the coast is clear and knows every creaking spot on the floorboards; he doesn’t want to be caught in the crossfire. He reads his sisters bedtime stories and takes them to their aunt when things get too bad, so he can have some time to practice. He knows he’s running away but he just can’t bear it.

He wishes he were braver, or things were different. It’s futile, that he knows as well, but that doesn’t stop Reggie from dreaming of better days and on some nights, of naked arms and golden flecks in hazel eyes.

He’s always been an optimist at heart.

*

_“It always feels like water  
_ _like the waves rushing in  
_ _I wanna cast a spell on you  
_ _to love me  
_ _just the way I imagine.”_

_“Wrap your fingers around my wrist  
_ _~~And take me away from here  
~~ _ _And take me to wonderland  
_ _When time is running out  
_ _We will pretend to have plans  
_ _And when the stars collide  
_ _We’ll hold hands.  
_ _Hold my hand, hold my hand, hold my hand.”_

*

For once, Reggie is on his own in the studio. That rarely ever happens, but Bobby is working his shift at the movie theater and Alex has been dictated home by his parents and Luke is out getting them food, so he’s just sitting on the couch, flipping through Luke’s notebook. He told Reggie he had written something new, something exciting which would definitely book them the Orpheum finally, but Reggie has yet to find it. Not that he doubts Luke’s capabilities, he wouldn’t. Okay, maybe, sometimes he does doubt it a little, but only because Luke tends to shoot for the stars, which is really admirable, but not always where they are yet. They’re, like, still trying to catch a ride with the rocket. Huh, maybe there’s a lyric somewhere as well. One, that’s not about holding hands while the walls are tumbling down written in as many different ways as to not incite a lawsuit from Tears for Fears.

He’s not really paying attention to the pages he already knows, until a note falls out of the book, seemingly to mark a page, and Reggie, who normally wouldn’t think much of it, has a one track mind that screams LUKE at any given moment, stops and reaches down to pick it up. It’s napkin sized, maybe the back of a shopping list or something. There, unmistakably, are lyrics written down hastily in Luke’s terrible handwriting. It’s indistinguishable at first, but Reggie has known Luke and his shitty handwriting all his life, so the words slowly unravel in front of his eyes as he is scanning the page:

 _“this boy is mine  
_ _because I want him to be  
_ _this boy is mine  
_ _sounds sweet like a symphony  
_ baby _, just be mine  
_ _cause we’re running out of time.”_

and

 _“you and I won’t ever grow old  
_ _jealousy never suited me well  
_ _but for you I wear it coated in gold  
_ _because all the girls want you  
_ _but_ baby _, oh_ baby _, you are mine  
_ _so, let’s run away  
_ _into the dark of the night.”_

It’s ….. completely fine. Reggie’s breath is definitely not caught in his throat, and he is definitely not shoving the paper back to where it came from, closing the notebook and all but chucking it away from him. Who cares what Luke writes, this could be written by anyone, and the reason why Reggie’s heartbeat is so goddamn loud in his ears is because of high cholesterol. He never lost the baby fat anyway, not in his cheeks or the slight swell of his hips. He’s never cared for it. It’s fine. He can hear the blood rushing through his head, and this is not how you react when your best friends is writing love songs, which he has never done before, about someone he’s calling _baby_ , and as far as you know you’re the only person he calls that particular nickname.

Really, it’s fine.

Reggie is completely, absolutely, totally fine.

He takes a deep breath and picks up the notebook from the other side of the room; he can do this. It’s fine. And isn’t it kind of flattering as well? When he dreams himself away to a place where this could be really written about him. It’s like they’re Fleetwood Mac, writing love songs about each other. Well, hopefully just the love songs and none of the Rumours stuff, because Reggie doesn’t think he could deal with such a fallout; he’s had enough of divorced couples for the rest of his lifetime.

The page flips open again, and he sits down on the couch to look at it once more. His fingers caress the black letters, unmistakably Luke’s handwriting, and his lips curl into a small smile as he reads some more.

“Baby _, you burn so bright,  
_ _You light up my darkest nights_.”

Reggie can see why Luke hasn’t used any of them yet; there’s a little too much repetition and it’s not clear if it’s a ballad or an up-tempo song. They’ve never played anything in ¾, so maybe that would be a fitting time signature. A waltz. Something to hold steady on the drum, something that makes you want to fall in love. They have so many female fans, he’s sure Luke would make them swoon with this one. Reggie feels heat in his stomach at the thought of Luke singing this to a crowd of people who adore him, but it’s only for Reggie. That’s …… that’s something. He swallows, and his cheeks must be all blotchy red because by the time the garage door opens and Luke comes back in, he stops and is staring at him.

It could also be because he is still balancing the open notebook on his knees.

The napkin/back of the shopping list is, kind of. Very visible.

Luke puts the bag of Chinese down, shoulders slumping, soft mouthed and unguarded as he so rarely is anymore, and Reggie’s heart is somersaulting to the ceiling.

“I – I guess that’s not the song you meant?” Reggie’s voice is a stutter, his face warming up even more.

“Oh, _baby_.”

Luke, he looks … concerned and scared and sorry and relieved all at once, and Reggie doesn’t know what to do with that, so he just keeps looking at him, up at him, watches him wipe his mouth on the sleeve of his hoodie, stepping over cables and microphones rolled up in a heap on the floor, all to get to where he is sitting on Luke’s couch. Reggie can feel his heartbeat in his throat, a base drum keeping him steady, so he doesn’t keel over. He doesn’t know what it’s gonna be now.

Luke’s eyes are so big and wide and Reggie stares, dumbfounded. How can a boy like that have him wrapped around his little finger? A boy with a mop of unruly chestnut hair and broad shoulders and sharp fingers, a boy who sings like a canary and makes Reggie feel like he could do anything, be anything he wants. A boy who keeps their dreams alive, singlehandedly. How could he make Reggie question such a fundamental fact about himself that now, there are only question marks left where it once used to be set in stone, an unshakable foundation.

The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Reggie is straight.

For all he knows, the sky could be purple now. Nothing is true anymore; Luke unraveled it all from the inside.

“I didn’t want you to find this,” Luke says, almost sheepishly, and Reggie’s eyes wander back and forth, skirt over Luke’s face, try to make sense of what is happening here.

“But I found it,” Reggie mutters, eyes sliding back to the page. _You light up my darkest nights_ …. He remembers when they laid on the mattress up in the loft, and Luke held him all night long, even when they both had drifted off to sleep, and he remembers Luke soaked in silver moonlight, like, like … like a painting. Surreal. Beautiful. Filling all of Reggie’s senses with the overwhelming urge to press his mouth – somewhere. To taste him.

“I …” Luke starts, and stops short. He sighs, “Is this weird? Cause I … Reg, I can’t stop _thinking_ about you.”

Reggie chokes, or, well, he almost does. It’s how he’d describe the feeling of his breath getting stuck in his throat, making him swallow a cough, and his head turning an alarming shade of scarlet.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, and I tried – I tried, dude. I really did, and I talked to Alex, but I didn’t – it didn’t really work, and I started writing all these super sappy love songs, which, uh. I know, we don’t have to go all U2 and become _that_ kinda band, but I – uh, I thought. I thought that you deserve to know, that. I kinda like you. Like. _So_ much.”

Luke is rigid and breathless and earnest, and Reggie feels the part.

“And I totally get if you don’t want that. Or if it makes you uncomfortable, and you wanna leave the band. That would seriously suck, but I’d understand. I mean, we’d have to find a bass player and vocalist as talented and good-looking as you, which won’t be easy, but. We’d manage, I think.”

Reggie scrunches his nose up, and huffs out, “You think you’d manage without me? _Seriously_? I’m the best bass player on the west coast. This face doesn’t come cheap,” but his mouth slowly morphs into a smile, into a grin, and then all teeth on display and suddenly, Luke seems unfrozen, on the move again. He grins as well, a matching set of pearly white teeth staring back at him, and Luke laughs; his breath is still coming too short.

“Of course we wouldn’t manage without you, _baby_. We’d never be as good as we are now,” Luke murmurs, softly.

The notebook is heavy in his lap, and Reggie is contemplating all of this for a moment. He knows he likes Luke, and Luke, Luke likes him back and doesn’t just write love songs about anybody, and doesn’t just call him baby for no reason, and _he likes Reggie back_ , and it doesn’t sound or feel as scary as he thought it would. With all this uncertainty and chaos surrounding him, he actually feels … liberated. Huh. Strange, but pleasant to just _know_ something. It’s like when he plays the bass and can feel the melody and the harmonies just making sense, clear to him as the light of day, and it’s always been so easy for him, unlike high school, where he had to sit still and _focus,_ and where nothing made any fucking sense, and Reggie felt like a complete and utter idiot. Music, though. Music has always made perfect sense to him. Luke does, as well, now. Like a song written just for him.

“Sooo ….” Luke interrupts his thoughts, and the smile has yet to vanish; it sits there, mirthfully, in the corner of his mouth. “Uhm. You’re not mad about the song?”

He is so achingly sincere and tentative; Reggie wants to erase the distance between them and wipe that look off his face. Make him laugh again, make him sing. Reggie loves making people happy.

“No,” Reggie says. “I’m not mad. Only that it’s not finished yet.”

Luke sits down next to him, his thigh pressed to Reggie’s, and he is so warm that he can feel it through the fabric of both their jeans. Reggie, who’s always so cold that he needs layers, even in LA, wants to crawl inside of him and soak up all his heat. Wants Luke’s hands on him, wants them to map the inches from his shoulders to his chest, to his heart, warm him from the outside in, hold him sure and strong, and Reggie is going to lose his goddamn mind if he keeps staring at him like that, with those lips, with those _eyes_.

“ _Baby_ ….” And Luke inhales to say whatever, but Reggie doesn’t care; he angles his head towards Luke’s and closes the space between them _finally_. His mouth is as warm as his hands, softer than Reggie would have expected, and their noses bump against each other as they try to adjust; Luke is so still, Reggie is almost scared that he’s maybe misjudged all of this horribly and made another stupid, super stupid mistake, but then his hand comes up to curl around the edge of Reggie’s jaw and he is pressing his mouth against Reggie’s. It feels – greatamazingawesome _breathtaking_ and Reggie might produce a gasp that is too delicate to pick up if you aren’t listening for it, but he can feel Luke’s lips draw upwards into the kiss.

Reggie, he … he kind of doesn’t want to ever stop this, especially not when it is the most logical thing to open his mouth, invite Luke in and have him reach for Reggie’s thigh with his free hand, thumb pushing into the ripped part, hot on his bare skin. It’s like there are no layers and Reggie is seriously burning up and he can’t – now, he might need a break, but he can’t seem to stop. They are kissing and there is Chinese food that is definitely getting cold, and his hand is twisting into Luke’s shirt, one of those infuriating sleeveless ones, pulling him closer. Luke’s hoodie is sliding off his shoulder and this, it’s nothing like kissing a girl – Luke’s skin is not as soft, he smells familiar and vaguely soapy, and Reggie finds he likes the steady pressure he emanates; there is firm muscle on him that Reggie is growing rapidly obsessed with which is kind of a surprise, because he never – that was never a thing he thought he’d be into. But he’s into Luke. All of him. Strong hands, skilled fingers, persistent mouth, messy hair, and endless eyes. Smooth voice and a mean guitar. Oh, yeah. Reggie is _so_ into the way Luke plays his guitar.

They pull apart, finally, to force some air into their lungs, and Reggie blinks his eyes open to find that Luke’s lips are as red and swollen as his feel like. It’s – crazy that he did that. It’s even crazier that his stomach does a swoopy thing at the thought and he just wants to kiss Luke again and again. Preferably until he forgets his own name or his address, or something.

Luke is looking at him as if he’s seeing Reggie for the first time. If Reggie wouldn’t be so sure that his whole face is a spectacularly intense shade of red at this point, he’d blush even more.

“Reg,” Luke breathes out, and he is _staring_ at Reggie. “That was incredible.”

“Yeah,” Reggie agrees. His lips are still tingling, and he can still taste Luke.

“Why haven’t we done this all this time?” Luke asks, sounding eager. It’s … _adorable_. Reggie wants to bottle that sound up and carry it with him, so whenever he feels like a waste of space, he can remind himself that there is a perfect boy who is eager to be with him. Someone who doesn’t expect him to be anything he isn’t.

“Cause we thought I was into girls for, uhm. Always?” Reggie tries.

“Oh, yeah,” Luke’s head tilts slightly, “I guess you aren’t anymore? Or still, and ...”

“And I like boys as well,” Reggie’s nose must turn twelve different kinds of pink. There’s a spot on the floor that is so interesting, it is practically captivating. “I think, uh, cause. I totally like you.”

Luke is nudging him with his knee, making Reggie look up at him, and there is that gentle look on his face, the same one that asks him if he is feeling okay or how things are at home. “You don’t have to define anything, Reg. I lo – _like_ you the way you are. We love you the way you are, _baby_. You know that.”

His smile is dimpled and syrupy sweet. Reggie wants to kiss his cheeks, sorta. Kinda. Totally.

He’s so blindingly, stupidly, daftly, and wonderfully in love with Luke Patterson and it’s going to eat his brain away until all he can do is write Celine Dion-esque love songs. They’re gonna be like Sonny and Cher. Alex will constantly roll his eyes at them and Bobby will loathe every second of it, and it will be _great_ , and Reggie wants to kiss Luke until he’s forgotten all the scales his piano teacher used to make him play in first grade.

“Oh, Luke?” He pipes up then, while sneaking his hand over to Luke’s, intertwining their fingers. Testing it out.

(It’s good.)

“Yeah, Reggie?”

“I’ve written songs about you as well.”

And at that, they dissolve into a cloud of laughter, Reggie bowing forward with his head against Luke’s torso, feeling his chest vibrate, and then, a squeeze of his hand and a sloppy kiss to the nape of his neck. Yeah. It’s really good.

*

It’s a week later when they are squeezed onto the couch, Luke’s arm around him and their legs entangled, that Reggie finally works the nerve up to ask him what he’s been wanting to know all this time. They haven’t told anyone yet, still basking in the secrecy of it, the stolen moments, and the intoxicating rush of falling in love with your best friend. They’ll tell Alex soon, but Reggie knows that both of them have doubts about Bobby – despite being a vegetarian and generally cool, he’s kind of … prickly about this stuff. Lots of talk about band integrity and wasting time kissing each other or whatever he comes up with. So, that’s on the backburner for a little while longer.

“Luke?” Reggie asks, voice half muffled; Luke is drawing circles with his thumb onto the palm of his hand, and Reggie’s head is resting on Luke’s chest. He is watching their hands with a happy, little smile. His Luke smile, the one that is way too obvious to really hide anything, but Reggie doesn’t care much about that when they are on their own. No one around to see.

Yeah, _babe_?”

Nine times now. They’re almost up to ten.

“Why do you keep calling me baby?”

Luke’s thumb stops moving, along with the rest of his body going suspiciously still beneath Reggie, who pries his eyes away from their hands to glance up at his lead singer. His face hasn’t gone entirely ashen, but he seriously looks constipated. Huh.

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked.

“Uh.” Luke, who is normally so brazen, has apparently been broken. Reggie has _broken_ him. He’s broken his boyfriend. Shit.

“Hey, are you good? Cause, like. I just wanna know. I like it, if you’re wondering about that,” As he’s speaking, his face is turning crimson, and Luke’s thumb is moving again, reassuringly, like he can always tell when Reggie is starting to feel insecure.

“You like it?” Luke echoes, voice high but his hold on him tender and sure.

“Yeah,” Reggie says, nodding, “I really like it. It’s … it’s sweet.” A single, slight shrug, like it’s nothing, even though it’s everything.

Luke is looking at him now, in that indescribable way of his, and Reggie shifts a little bit in his arms, and then, there’s a smile blooming on his face, slowly but steadily. It’s beautiful to bear witness to and Reggie cannot quite believe his own luck. That’s _his_ smile now. Wow.

“Okay, whew. So, you don’t want me to stop? Because I don’t really know if I can. It’s kind of … I’m used to it now,” Luke replies, and for once, he has the audacity to turn red. He cups Reggie’s cheek and caresses the soft skin beneath his eye, and Reggie leans into the touch before his gaze finds Luke’s again. He’s given answer enough to Luke’s question, but he’s still left waiting, high and dry.

“But why did you start doing it?” He asks again, softer this time.

“Why? Cause …. I’ve liked you for a while. And it always made your cheeks flush.” Luke adds with a chuckle and Reggie buries his face in the fabric of Luke’s shirt, groaning, _Really_?

“Don’t worry, baby. You’re cute when you’re blushing,” Luke mumbles, kissing the top of Reggie’s head, where his hair is soft and bouncy.

“I’m always blushing!” Reggie protests, rubbing his nose against Luke’s chest, in the hope of making all of this go away; he’s laying more on top of him now than anything, but he doesn’t mind and neither does Luke, who only squeezes him tighter with both arms wrapped around Reggie’s middle, keeping him close to his heart.

“Exactly.”

**Author's Note:**

> all the lyrics appearing here are written by myself and lifted from songs and poems, so if they suck, that's why. I always feel like sunset curve would have migrated from their bright, pop-rocky sound to something very fall out boy late 2000s, so that's partly where this is coming from. I've agonized over them for too long, so now it just is what it is.
> 
> the joni mitchell record reggie mentions is "Blue" and the song quoted right below is _river_ , which is the best breakup song ever written, and really captures this whole vibe. 
> 
> there are a bunch of fun references here, from Sonny & Cher over Celine Dion to U2, which is my dad's favorite band and he worships them. so, you know. shout out to him, because he is the reason why I fell in love with music. 
> 
> hmu on twitter @richardrmadden


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